... night. I look'd, I listen'd; dreadful sounds I hear; And the dire forms of hostile gods appear. Troy sunk in flames I saw (nor could prevent), And Ilium from its old foundations rent; Rent like a mountain ash, which dar'd the winds, And stood the sturdy strokes of lab'ring hinds. About the roots the cruel ax resounds; The stumps are pierc'd with oft-repeated wounds: The war is felt on high; the nodding crown Now threats ... — The Aeneid • Virgil
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